Chapter 11 #3
“I’ll make a balm for you that will heal that within hours,” I say. I sound like a robot with how monotone my voice is. All the anger, all the energy, all the fight going out like a flame doused. “It doesn’t look like it’s healing like it should.”
Something flashes across his face and he rights his shirt and covers the mark. A fucking mark with my fang imprints. It would be better if he skinned that part of himself to get rid of it.
“I did give my consent, Mavyn,” he murmurs softly. “You don’t need to owe me anything.”
Except I do. Nothing is ever given for free. There’s always a price. Always something that comes back to bite you in the ass. It’s not even about morals, it’s about fate and karma. I have to keep a balance because the universe already hates me. The one Earth is in and apparently this one too.
“Mavyn,” he says, a bit louder and with more force. It makes me focus on him and not the thoughts in my head. I must have spaced out or something. I was trying to figure out where I could get more rucksile. “You. Don’t. Owe. Me.”
Each word is its own statement. He enunciates each in case I couldn’t understand the meaning of those four words together.
“I’m not that devil,” he says a bit softer. How did he know I was thinking about that? It makes me frown and I take a step back from the desk.
“I know,” I snap. To which he drops his shoulders and relaxes his body into the chair. Not sitting straight up and making himself slightly shorter. As if he’s. . . “Don’t. Don’t do that just because you pity me for my past.”
He keeps his face neutral, though I can see his muscles jump as he clenches his jaw. Tension thrums through his body and his breaths get just a hair shallower. The body doesn’t lie.
“I wanted to know if your Intro to Power Compulsion class was going to be in here or in Mr. Mackly’s classroom.”
Hisdo eyes don’t waver from mine for long seconds.
What I would give for some sort of memory potion.
Better yet, give me a time machine so I can go back to Saturday night.
That’s all I would ask. So then I could crawl into a ball instead of sinking my fangs into his neck.
So he wouldn’t have a mark made by me on him.
“It’ll be in Mr. Mackly’s,” he finally answers.
And with that I turn and make my way towards the door.
Callahan waits there watching us. I don’t want to wonder if Thorne ran his mouth to the rest of the celestials but I can’t help it.
Does Callahan also know about the devil feeding from me?
Did Thorne tell him that I said the devil used to try feeding his blood to me?
Saying the word ‘try’ doesn’t technically make it a lie. There were times I would refuse and the devil would grip the back of my head and shove my fangs into him. There were a couple times when I was able to not swallow it. I let it run down my chin and be wasted.
Those days the beatings would last even after I would wake up from being unconscious. The longest one was when I had gone unconscious and woken up six times before he stopped. He liked those times because then I would beg for his blood to help heal the wounds. Help take the pain away.
Callahan doesn’t stop me or even follow me as I leave the room. I head down the hall and round a corner to an empty alcove before slamming my back against the wall and heaving. I release my hold on my blood and let it rush through my veins. Let my heart pound in my chest.
So much control, so much concentration, so much contained emotion. All the fucking time.
I let it all out. I let it rip through my chest with a fire and some sort of pitiful sound escapes from my throat. Sliding down the wall I push my spine into it and hug my knees. Wrapping my arms around, I dig my nails into my thighs and squeeze my eyes shut.
It feels too close to burning but I don’t stop it. There’s a type of control in self-destruction. A power in it because it’s your choice. And when you’ve lived a life where so many of your choices are taken from you, you do what you can to gain some of it back.
You can’t be destroyed if you’ve already done it yourself.
Opening my eyes I let myself burn for another moment longer before focusing on a chip in the stone wall and shoving it all back in.
All the burning and fire and emotion gets locked up as I force my blood to slow and my heartrate to drop.
All that energy and aura that had been flaming curls back into me reducing to an almost nothingness.
Releasing my hold around my legs, I straighten my back and push off my knees to stand.
Taking in as much air through my nose as possible I softly close my eyes to hold.
My limbs get floaty as I focus on my steady heartbeat and warmth floods my body.
Sixty-three seconds before I release all the air in my lungs and then I suck in another deep breath to hold it again.
This time I wait till seventy-seven seconds before releasing. It would be better if I was barefoot and toeing some grass, but the grounding breathing helps, nonetheless. Maybe tonight I’ll slip out to lay next to the forest by the dorm building. Maybe it’ll help reset the flow of my body.
Speaking of. . . a sharp pain slices through my lower abdomen. Fucking hell, this next week is about to be a bitch.